


so this guy walks into a bar...

by silvercistern



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bickering, Family Planning, M/M, barfighting, compulsory dumpster diving, dance moves unfit for available space, fucking around both literally and figuratively, literal dad jokes, three dogs in a one-bedroom apartment, unimpressed Yuuri, very established relationship, viktor “trying too hard” nikiforov, wasted phichit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercistern/pseuds/silvercistern
Summary: Okay, okay, okay so you know that trope where a couple pretends to be strangers so that they can seduce each other? Yeah I’m sure you do. It’s been done before. But hear me out:What if they were embarrassingly bad at it?Instead of talking over their future, two grown-ass, married adults pretend to be strangers in a club.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [risquetendencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/gifts).



“Vodka s tonikom… ano… pazhalujsta.”

He was painfully aware of how mangled the words were. Even more aware of how he’d just _told_ the bartender his drink order instead of asked. Service interactions were pure culture shock; he always felt unbearably rude by the time they were over. He’d said please this time, which made him sound even more foreign than he looked, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself.

But that wasn’t anything new. The struggle not to feel awkward had been intense from the instant he came in the club. The tiny bemused look that the bartender gave his face, his thick accent, and his drink choice was something he expected. He’d debated ordering straight vodka his entire way up to the bar. It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it: he’d learned over the past three years that, with the exception of one sassy redhead, he could drink any Russian he’d met under the table.

Though usually he was dancing on it by that point.

But that wasn’t the goal at the moment. He knew the more he’d drink, the more he’d loosen up, but he’d also start to drink faster. He was out to have a good time, not to give every single person in the club an enthusiastic lap dance.

That was too much of a good time. One he saved for special, private occasions.

A vodka tonic was placed in front of him in the brief instant it had taken to worry about ordering it. He thanked the bartender and the man smiled with his eyes for a fraction of a second. Or maybe he didn’t; he was back to preparing drinks too quickly to be sure.

The club was… hip. At least that was its intention. To people who didn’t know any better it might appear to be a poorly executed version of that everything-is-white-and-steel style that Westerners pretended was minimalism.

In any case, there were several levels to the place. He was on the first, the loud one with a large recessed dance floor some ways distant from the bar. The walls were exposed, whitewashed brick with chaotic colors splashed behind skeletal silhouettes of iconic St. Petersburg buildings. Descriptions of different drinks were written in sharp Cyrillic lettering on strategically placed blackboards. Bright exposed lightbulbs hung from the ceiling over the bar, but the brightness dissipated before it could get far. The revolving black lights over the dance floor illuminated the colors on the surrounding walls in a way that would have probably made some people dizzy.

But he was professionally good at not getting dizzy.  

Not sure what else to do with himself, he took in the people sitting on either side. The women on his right were speaking much too fast to be understood well. From what he could make out, they were urging a delicate woman to get over someone. A female someone, if he understood the murmured pronouns. In the process of convincing her, they _all_ seemed to be talking about female someones in a romantic context. On his left, a group of men were discussing plans to impress those very same women.

Deciding not to eavesdrop on that recipe for disaster, he turned on his stool until his back was to the bar then stared across the dancefloor.

“Bozhe moj,” the bartender grumbled behind him. Probably because at the very edge of the flashing lights and shifting color, a striking silver-haired man was dancing with seven women at once.

He was dancing like he had been born to do so, fluid and elegant, a flawless mixture of lust and grace. The beautiful women around him were mannequins in comparison. As he moved, he smiled and laughed, like dancing at a club was fun instead of something you did to get people to go to bed with you. It was the sort of thing that made you jealous, if you were the kind of person who got jealous.

No point in looking at that.

The barstool squeaked as he turned his back to the spectacle. His interest in dancing was now hovering around zero, even though that was what he’d come out to do. He nursed his drink slowly, feeling uncomfortable in the tight jeans he’d been urged to wear during a very anxious Skype conversation with his best friend. Even more uncomfortable was knowing that he was wearing a t-shirt so tight everyone could see the finer details of his nipples if he got even the slightest bit cold.

April in St. Petersburg was not warm.

Ignoring his personal ethics in order to distract himself, he listened to the lesbians (they could have a range of sexualities, really, he shouldn’t assume) on his right talk maturely about love. Meanwhile the romantic strategies that the men on his left were developing were becoming more and more elaborate.

Things really were not going to play out the way they wanted.

The bartender must have noticed his wry smiles at certain points in the conversations he was eavesdropping on. Either that, or he’d decided to like him for some other strange reason. But what was unquestionable was that the moment he finished his drink, another was in its place. Something that had absolutely never happened before to him or anyone else he knew. A miracle.

“Besplatno,” the bartender said firmly. He was young, with curly dark hair, hazel eyes, and a sharp jaw. Strikingly handsome, actually.

A delighted yell informed everyone that the man on the dance floor was enjoying the upbeat German pop song that had just started playing. His excitement was infectious and the room grew noticeably louder.

All that noise meant his thanks for the drink ended up more of a shout than he would have liked, but the bartender smiled with his eyes just a little bit longer than before. One of the women next to him said something particularly witty and both of them laughed into their hands while maintaining eye contact.

The moment lingered, then passed. He took another sip of his free drink while absentmindedly using his thumb to toy with the third finger of his right hand. Then half of his drink was soaking into his shirt and his glasses were knocked down his nose thanks to whoever had slammed into him from behind.

The bartender furrowed his brow as the gorgeous man from the dance floor leaned over the stool the lesbians had politely left vacant.

He was even more beautiful up close, though his impractical haircut covered one of his eyes. The shocking blue eye that wasn’t hidden raked him up and down, taking in too tight jeans and dripping shirt. His apologetic “Gomen!” was much louder than necessary and his accent was atrocious, a fact he seemed both aware of and unconcerned about. He was wearing a brown vest over a white shirt halfway unbuttoned. His jeans were tight and left very little to the imagination. A shining golden ring on a silver chain dangled on his chest, catching in the light.

A dead-ringer for a side character from a low budget yakuza movie.

He garbled out something else in Japanese, but it didn’t make much sense. The bartender had already sat out another vodka tonic to replace the one that had spilled, announcing once again that it was on the house.

The interloper sat his elbow on the bar, propping his head up with his hand. The fringe that covered the left side of his face flopped back to reveal that he wasn’t missing an eye. His heart-shaped smile was more goofy than provocative.

“Khochesh’ napitok, miliy moy?” he asked. Speaking Russian his voice was low and smooth enough for anyone listening to feel the words skid across the skin. It would have been incredibly seductive, but unfortunately he was asking someone who had one and a half drinks in front of him if he wanted yet another.

He had no idea how to respond to such a stupid question and the secondhand-embarrassment pushed him close to full blown panic. The bartender exhaled, giving the man a flat, dead stare.

“Oh! I apologize! Would you prefer we speak in English? You are Japanese, right? Unfortunately, my Japanese is not as good as I would like, though my teacher says he can see some improvement.”

“Yes, but I don’t think we need to talk.” This entire situation was mortifying, and not just for the person making an ass out of himself.

“Oh?” the man’s sideways grin could eat a car. “Our bodies could do the talking for us, maybe…” he insinuated deep and soft. Unfortunately, not soft enough.

The bartender grimaced and the glass he was washing slipped out of his hands and thudded around in the sink.

“There seem to be a lot of women out there who want to have a conversation with your body,” was the easy counterargument. It was also an effort to sound cold and unreachable instead of self-conscious and ready to go home.

“Yes, but they’re not nearly so adorable,” the silver-haired man reached up with his free hand and flicked his nose lightly. “Would you like to know my name?”

“I’m fine,” he tightened his ponytail and went back to his drink.

“Awhhh… I’m going to be a nuisance until you dance with me,” the man whined. “At least tell me your name so I know who to cry over.”

The honesty was at least something. Irritating, for instance. The man was too ridiculous to be predatory, but he wasn’t doing a lot to impress, either. Saying “nuisance” made him sound like a weird uncle.

“You’ll lose your voice.”

“Then I’ll carve your praises into the bar, only I need your name first.”

“I wouldn’t do that; they might throw you out.” 

“Tossed in a dumpster for a worthy cause,” the blissful sigh was embarrassingly dramatic. “You’re going to miss out. I’m a very good dancer.”

“I need to finish my drink,” he finally offered an actual reason, though it wouldn’t hold out for very long.

Another vodka tonic was slammed down in front of him.

“Besplatno,” the most generous bartender in the entire nation of Russia said in a very flat voice.

The man huffed petulantly and went back to the dance floor, swaying his hips as he went. Not that he was watching. Well, there was no point in denying that the man was mind-bogglingly attractive, but it took more to get him to dance than ridiculous lines. After all that, he wanted to get absolutely plastered, and not in a good way.

“Spacibo bol’shoe,” he thanked the bartender as politely as possible, making tentative but intentional eye contact. The man closed his eyes and waved his hand like multiple free drinks was nothing. He smiled though. A real one.

 

Two point five songs and one more vodka tonic later the silver-haired man was back.

“You see, I noticed your eyes on me before I came over the first time. Since you’re not interested in a dance, I was just wondering if you had recognized me. I am somewhat known in certain parts of Japan. My name is…um… A-Alexei–”

The bartender lifted his eyebrow ruthlessly enough to cut off “Alexei’s” sentence, then turned to serve some other customers.

The vodka tonic was prime real estate for sighing into. He didn’t know what to do with someone ridiculous enough to give a fake name immediately after mentioning that he was famous.

“So, now you know! But you still have not told me your name.” He tilted his hair and smiled softly, “Also, I have not told you that your hair is very cute.” As though he’d caught himself doing something inappropriate, he shook his head and the softness was gone. “Although I am sure you are told that all the time. But if you tell me your name, I can tell you personally.”

“You’re standing right here.”

“Actually I am leaning. At least a bit of me is on this stool so maybe sitting?”

He sipped his drink, unimpressed.

“Okay! I don’t seem to be asking you right, so I will try again.” He licked his lips and tossed his hair in a gesture that looked more nervous than glamorous. It was… somewhat charming, actually.

“Hi! Mysterious Japanese man, I think you look incredibly fascinating and very beautiful. There is no one else here I’d rather dance with; would you like to dance with me?”

He swallowed apprehensively as soon as he’d finished, like he’d never asked a question like that in his life.

But the woman behind him moved during his impassioned request, catching the leg of her barstool on the one that was “maybe” being sat on and unintentionally pulling it backwards. For all of his grace on the dance floor, Alexei ended up on the sticky ground, long legs sprawled out like a beetle stuck on its back.

His eyes were huge, shocked into paralysis. Shattered elegance sparkled in a pile all around him, revealing a somewhat awkward but kind of adorable person.

It was second nature to slide off his stool, crouch down, and offer his hand.

“Are you alright?”

The bartender let out a single bark of laughter as he dried a glass.

Alexei took the offered hand, pulling himself up halfway. Instead of lifting himself up he leaned forward all to whisper:

“ _I will be if you tell me your name_.”

This was too absurd to be embarrassed over. He lifted his free hand to his face to hide his laughter. It didn’t do a very good job of, so he inadvertently yanked his other free to cover his mouth completely.

Without any support, Alexei fell back on the floor to the irritation of the jostled women behind him. There was a struggle to stand, a dramatic hair toss, and a deep, dignity-recovering breath while he adjusted his veneer.

It was impossible to stop laughing long enough to do anything but stutter. But even the hint of future information had Alexei’s attention, affronted though he was. He tried to lean down to listen without getting overwhelmingly close. He absolutely failed but it didn’t matter much.

“Your dance moves are really impressive,” the words came and then were immediately choked off in another failed effort to keep from laughing. “I’d lo-love to see more.”

“I don’t regularly dance with bar stools,” the owner of said dance moves leaned back and dusted off his pants haughtily. “And I do not want a pity dance, even from the sexiest man here. I have self-respect.”

While this posturing was going on, he threw back the last of his drink, feeling the sting of the alcohol slide down his throat. It warmed his ears, flushed his face and made everything seem like a better idea than it was.

“Have you considered a dance-off?” he sat the glass upside down on the bar, then turned with competitive intensity. “You could reestablish your self-respect? Or get it crushed, more likely.” He grabbed Alexei’s collar and pulled him down low enough to murmur in his ear.

“I promise when I destroy you it won’t be out of pity.”

There was only one world where he’d willingly suggest such a thing, and that world involved a minimum of five and a half vodka tonics. This world was also a place more sensitive to the reality that, after falling off bar stools, idiots seemed a lot more charming than they did previously.

The current idiot’s eyes turned into liquid blue fire.

“There is not a single moment in my life when I am not considering a dance-off.”

 

There wasn’t enough room on the dance floor for a competition. Not without kicking a bunch of people in the head. There wasn’t enough room on the dance floor to do much of anything other than grind on surrounding club patrons, whether you wanted to or not. But at the very back, near one of the pillars that held up the building, there was a little more space, if you ignored the couples who were basically having sex against the back wall. Not a lot of space, but enough.

And a bit of privacy too. Which was either a terrible idea or a really good one.

Alexei had pulled him through the sea of people, his fingers tight around his wrist so they didn’t get separated. When they finally arrived to where he was leading, Alexei let go. The man had at least six centimeters on him, so he had to look up to see his face. He raised his eyes at what might have been the perfect moment, just as the light from the DJ’s booth slid down Alexei’s body. He was glowing, the intense light catching on his pale skin, silvery hair, and bright eyes.

Whether the glow was angelic or alien was up for debate, but he was painfully attractive either way.

The was no question that Alexei knew it, because the instant their eyes met, his smile curled up and his eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, putting an arm on each side of the pillar so there was no room for escape. His long body leaned into his space until their hips were nearly touching and soft breaths were skittering across the exposed skin of his neck. He felt the opposite of cold, but the stupid shirt was going to show off his nipples anyway.

Plenty of people had seen them before, he didn’t know why he cared so much.

“How are we to compete with so little space?” Alexei bellowed right next to his ear in the least sexy way possible. “I am very competitive, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” he responded much less loudly, feeling the smooth hum of his buzz roll down the back of his neck, insisting that being aroused was still a good idea. “We just have to make do.”

“What kind of dance do we even want to–?”

The question went unfinished because maybe things would just go a little more smoothly if they stopped talking.

Taking a step forward and away from the pillar, he gracefully wrapped his leg around Alexei’s much broader, back until his raised foot was resting somewhere around his ribcage. Tightening his thigh, he yanked them together until their groins were intimately close.

“Amazing! So flexible!” was shouted in the general vicinity of his ear. Anything else was swallowed up by the pounding music.

“You think so?” he turned his head and smiled, getting a nervous swallow in response. With careful precision in the swarm of nearby bodies he bent completely backwards until the top of his head was barely skimming the floor. He didn’t really know how long to hold that pose. He didn’t really know why he was doing it in the first place, beyond the secret desire to show off. But then there were hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin so hard there were probably going to be bruises.

Those same hands skidded up his sides, sliding his body upwards with gentle but undeniable force until he was at least three quarters of the way upright. Silver hair hung like a curtain around the blue eyes looking down at him. Alexei was staring brazenly, like the man in his arms was something he planned on devouring. The gold ring on the silver chain spun between them, flashing in the light.

“That is going to be quite a challenge to beat…” Alexei’s pupils were exploding with his rapidly growing interest, but, with the exception of their hips, which were still tightly pressed together, he was holding him with restrained distance, like they were waltzing.

But they weren’t, so why act like it?

“What’s the prize for this contest?” he pulled himself all the way up, wrapping his arms around Alexei’s neck. He felt confident that he was going to win, if only because all he had to do was roll his hips a little to get an enthusiastic shudder in response.

“Ah, well,” it was easy for someone with only one visible eye to avoid eye contact, “If you, ha, win I will do whatever it is that you want. And… if I win, you’ll erm, tell me your name. Yes, perfect! That.”

“And what if what I want is for you to leave me alone?” he murmured into his ear, ignoring how uneven the stakes were.

Alexei pulled back, eyes sharp, “If that’s what you want, malysh, I will leave without question.” His voice dropped, “But I suspect, if you really wanted that, you would have left already. I think you could break my arm if you wanted to. Or ask that pretty bartender to do it for you.”

He didn’t let go, but he loosened his grip, a gesture which indicated he was more than free to leave.

“In fact,” Alexei’s breath was hot on his ear, “the only reason I want your name is because I need to know what to call out later this evening.”

What a stupid line. What a stupid, stupid line and it was making his toes curl and heat roll down his spine. His glasses were going to fog up any minute. He had to take a step back or Alexei was going to realize in a very physical way how much his stupid line had worked. Even as he dropped his leg, his calf slid over the swell of Alexei’s ass and he couldn’t help but shiver.

“I’m very bad at this!” Alexei was whining, taking his immediate response the wrong way. “I’ve only come on to one person ever and he didn’t understand for months! I thought a more up front approach would work,” he ran his hands through his hair, which was currently purple in the lights. “Anyway, this contest is not over, since you are still here and I didn’t even get a turn.”

Backing into the crowd, he used his sheer presence to make space, pushing dancing couples out of a wider area just by holding up his long arms. The flickering lights shone through the white of his shirtsleeves, revealing tight corded muscles that probably could have forced anyone to move if he decided to be more aggressive about it.

With those same spectacular arms, Alexei pushed him backward, sliding soft fingers down one arm until their hands were clasped. With a step into the middle of the area he’d cleared, the taller man spun him, fast, rotating him in circles around his entire body, like a planet in orbit around the sun. After a full rotation, he shot out his leg to trip him. The contact was high, and knocked his legs completely in the air. Alexei caught him effortlessly as he fell, leisurely dipping him until his ponytail was touching the floor.

The height difference between them wasn’t really that much, but it felt enormous just then. His heart was racing and the competition didn’t seem very important anymore. Just as quickly as he’d been dipped, he was set upright and spun again, this time backwards until he was immovably pressed against the pillar. The size difference really did feel enormous when all of it was pressing against him, rolling in slow deliberate motions.

And then sliding down.

“You are unbearably lovely,” hot breath fluttered against his neck. “I want to touch you so much, but I will stop at any time, simply tell me.”

He shuddered, more interested in cutting off his hand than ask him to stop.  

“How can a person move so smoothly? So beautifully?” The hands on his shoulders slid softly down, fingers leaving goosebumps as they went from fabric to skin. “I was dancing when I saw you walking across the bar – dorogoy, you move like the world is building itself around you.”

It was impossible not to gasp as Alexei’s hands made the jump from his fingertips to his hips, then slowly down his thighs, finally stopping midway. Strong fingers grasped his legs, and then he was lifted as Alexei stood up.

“Hi,” he said, habitually crossing his legs behind Alexei’s back, then brushing away the silver fringe so he could see both blue eyes. “That was a good move, but I still think you lost. Words don’t count.”  

“Was it a single move contest?” Alexei narrowed his eyes. “I could try to beat you, but you’re definitely the more flexible one. Even with all this muscle,” he preened, “I am at a disadvantage in this crowd.”

“Are you?” he rolled eyes a lot and his hips a little. “I guess we could find something else to do with the limited space.”

“Are _you_ asking a very famous person to kiss you in such a public place?” he grinned and looked around at all the people surrounding them, most of whom seemed very disinterested in doing anything other than grind on each other. “Because honestly you are confusing and I’d rather you just say, since you won’t even tell me your name.”

Being the one with free hands, it was easy to pull Alexei down by the collar until their lips met, tasting like alcohol and familiarity.

 

After at least an hour of dancing that took up too much space and got them nothing but annoyed stares, they staggered back to the bar, sweaty and giddy. Though there was only one barstool left, he was urged to take it. Alexei leaned around him to order two of something, his Russian too fast to keep up with. The bartender’s face was back to perfect impassiveness, and he was swamped with other customers, so it took some time for their drinks to arrive. While they waited, Alexei’s hand had crept its way under the back of his t-shirt and soft, sweet, _dirty_ things were murmured in his ear, escalating in tone until they were little more than desperate whining.

_“Where did you learn to dance like that, you naughty little thing?”_

_“You definitely won the contest. So now I’ll do anything you want. I promise, I can make you feel so good. Don’t tell me you don’t want it. I heard the noises you were making in my arms. I can’t imagine how loud you’d be if you let me touch you.”_

_“Would you let me do that, malysh? I am very good with my hands, you know. Let me show you, and you’ll beg me to take you apart.”_

_“Please let’s go home, porosya moya, I need you insi–”_

The bartender slammed down their drinks. Without a second glance, he turned to the women next to them, deftly pouring out a glass of absinthe, sitting a slotted flat spoon on top of the glass, then placing a crumbling cube of sugar on top. Chunks from the handmade hipster sugar cube scattered across the bar. A chunk as large as a tablet of aspirin came to rest directly in front of their glasses of… whatever it was that had been ordered. Maybe whiskey?  The bartender brought a decanter from behind the bar, turned the old-fashioned knob, and let water slowly drip on the sugar.

Watching the water drip through the sugar in combination with the soft touches on his lower back was almost hypnotizing

Alexei’s had somehow managed to lay his sweaty head on his shoulder but couldn’t really stay still. Leaning forward, he picked up the largest bit of sugar then rolled it his fingers in some sort of like a nervous habit.

Was he still nervous? That was cuter than all of his previous attempts to flirt.

All business, the bartender was back, passing the now cloudy glass of absinthe to one of the women on their left.

“Look,” the hand that wasn’t holding the sugar pointed. “They have a Japanese shot of some kind. It has sake and gin in it. That sounds absolutely disgusting.” Hair tickled his ear as Alexei leaned forward and flicked his nose with a finger covered in sugar.

“That sound terrib–”

The slam of the bartender’s hands on the bar rattled the entire length of it, patrons scrambling to keep their drinks from tipping over. Before he could react, his glass was dumped it in the sink, and the bartender had rung a bell over the cash register, its sound loud even over the dance music.

Slapping a rag he’d had draped over his shoulder down on the bar with an incredible smack, the bartender started _absolutely yelling_ at Alexei in Russian so fast and full of slang that it was impossible for non-fluent speaker to understand.

But nearly everyone else in the club understood. Their lips curled back in disgust.

The hand making soft circles on the small of his back was ripped away as Alexei leaned over the bar. His mouth was downturned in a horrific scowl, something that didn’t seem possible on such a beautiful face. His growled response was equally difficult to understand, but the tone was utter outrage. Something about the drinks. And how dare he? He had not done such a thing, he would _never_. Whatever that thing was. 

Then the bouncers showed up. They knocked both of them away from the barstool. Even though Alexei was tall, they were taller and built like dock workers. They wrestled their target with impressive efficiency, ignoring the rapid-fire Russian that was spewing out of his mouth. He fought them hard, and was surprisingly strong for his much slimmer build. But there were two of them. In very little time, they pulled him away from the bar.

This all happened only moments before the person he was inelegantly trying to seduce had planned to accept his advances and suggest they leave together. Immediately.

But that didn’t happen. Worse, in the struggle, the bouncers inadvertently shoved a quite a few people. One of them was a man who was trying to proposition a small young woman who had been crying over her lost love only minutes before. She had told him she wasn’t interested; he was belligerently demanding why. It was at that exact moment of masculine fragility that he was knocked off balance and accidentally, but savagely elbowed her in the face.

One of her companions stood up, threw her bottle of beer to the floor, and slugged the asshole in the jaw.

 

And _that_ was the beginning of Yuuri Nikiforov’s first barfight. 

He was strong enough to hold his own. His long-standing career required he hurl himself into the air at high speeds: he could probably break someone’s leg if he kicked them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get knocked out. And also, he didn’t want to fight anyone, he wanted to find out where the bouncers had taken Viktor so he could explain that whatever they thought he’d done, he definitely hadn’t.

This had been such a terrible idea.

As soon as the initial paralyzed shock wore off, he smoothly ducked under a stool that was about to be thrown directly at his face then vaulted over a man who was barreling headfirst towards some unknown target. His goal was to find the bartender, and he did quickly enough. The man was looking at the fight with a somewhat confused expression, no more bouncers available to call. He appeared relieved to see Yuuri had escaped the fight with his face intact.

The stress of the situation meant that Yuuri did not really remember how to say, “That man is my husband and he didn’t do anything wrong” in Russian, but he tried. And failed; at least three quarters of it ending up in the heaviest accented English he’d spoken in years, with ample Japanese sprinkled throughout. The bartender looked at him with what might have been reassurance? He really wasn’t very expressive.

Leveraging fame was something Yuuri hated more than anything else, but there was nothing else for it.

“Nikiforov!” he yelled over the chaos of the fight, struggling to pull out his ID from the awful tight jeans. Even the most basic Russian he knew was completely gone in the rushing waves of anxiety, but the man hand understood Viktor enough to be annoyed with him, so he had to speak English. Yuuri took a deep breath and focused on what English actually sounded like. He just hoped the man had paid attention to Russian figure skating in the past ten years, “That man is Viktor Dmitrovich Nikiforov, the figure skater?? And my husband!”

He pulled out his ring from under his shirt and shoved his ID in the bartender’s face.

**Юрий Никифоров**

His transliterated given name never seemed right, but the point relied on his surname. He’d taken it in case of confusing government situations but catastrophes like this also applied. Well, disasters weren’t the only reason: he’d been writing Никифоров 勇利 in his notebooks for an embarrassingly large portion of his life.

The bartender seemed to get what was happening, which was relief enough to be embarrassing. He turned without another word, heading behind the bar. Yuuri sighed thankfully, assuming he was calling the bouncers to bring Viktor back. Where did they even take people, anyway? Was he in some kind of back room? Was he getting beaten? There hadn’t been any doors on the way in, other than the coat check, and they hadn’t taken him upstairs so…

Instead of help, the bartender slammed down a receipt for all the drinks he’d given Yuuri for “free.” If his face had been cold before, it was frozen now.

Although he was still very handsome.

Yuuri ripped out his wallet, threw every last ruble he had on the bar, and ran outside.

It was snowing and he was in a t-shirt. Anyone passing by could definitely see his nipples, although people had seen them on international television so he really didn’t know why he cared so much. It was impossible to know where bouncers dropped off their cargo, and the snow wasn’t sticking enough yet to track where they’d gone. Pacing back and forth in front of the club, on the verge of calling Yurio, he was lucky enough to see the two enormous men dusting off their hands, making their way out of an alley.

Not sure what to do until they passed, he leaned against the building and pulled out his phone, sending Viktor a somewhat frantic message. The instant he sent it he realized he’d tried to write in English with the romanji keyboard, so it was going to be completely incomprehensible.

But the bouncers had gone back into the bar, so he rounded the entrance to the alley, frantically calling out Viktor’s name. His mind was full of terrible images of him beaten or worse. He hadn’t yelled more than twice when he heard a rustling sound.

“ _Sukin syn!”_

As if triggered by the angry curse, there was a sound like a lot of small things falling into a heap and one big thing falling on top.

“ _Chert_...” a familiar voice muttered, “grebanyj musor...”

“Viktor?!?”

“Yuuri, do you know where I am?” Viktor’s voice echoed from further down the alley. He sounded… tense. “I am in this dumpster. Yuuri.”

Laughing was the worst thing Yuuri could possibly do but the rush of relief combined with the completely absurdity of the situation meant he absolutely could not stop.

 

After struggling to get Viktor out of the dumpster and waiting uncomfortably in line for the coat check, they were on the way home. It wasn’t a long walk, but it seemed like it since neither of them were talking.

“I cannot believe you got me thrown into a dumpster,” Viktor finally broke the silence. Sliding his ring back on his finger, he threw the chain that had kept it around his neck in the snow as though it were responsible. He wasn’t wearing his coat or gloves, insisting Yuuri carry them so they didn’t get smelly.

After that outburst, Yuuri was inclined to drop them in the street.

“What are you talking about?” he scrambled for the expensive chain, having put his own ring back while he was waiting for their coats. “I don’t even know what that was back there!”

Viktor sighed heavily through gritted teeth. “The bartender thought I slipped something in your drink.”

“What? Why? How would that even happen?”

“Well none of it would have happened if you had not been playing so hard to get!”

Yuuri stopped walking to glare. “This was your idea! You said you wanted to seduce me! You wanted to work for it. You _insisted._ ”

“I wanted to charm you, not seduce!”

He wished he had four more eyes to roll. “You’re terrible at flirting. I couldn’t just… _how did the world think you were some kind of playboy_?”

“I’m incredibly handsome!” Viktor turned around, affronted as he walked backwards. “People were happy to try to seduce me on their own. If not, I didn’t have to do much work to give off the impression that I was available. Just winking and tossing my hair. You would be surprised how far a smile can get you.”

Of course. Of course it was that.

“Well maybe _you_ wouldn’t, since you ignore everybody,” Viktor added.

Yuuri ignored him.

“Winking doesn’t go far with me,” he adjusted his glasses with aggressive annoyance.

“This is something I already knew.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I already threw myself at you and you didn’t get it. Winking was involved.”

“That was four years ago!”

“Today,” Viktor stopped walking. The snow was falling harder now, and it was sticking in his eyelashes and the hair on his bare forearms. “Four years ago today I came to Hasetsu. Anyway, I thought tonight would be a fun distraction from what’s upsetting you. It is always very sexy in films, pretending to be strangers.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, the snow collecting in Viktor’s cuffs while they stared each other down.

“I know you are sad to retire because of your ankle,” Viktor continued, matter-of-factly. “Yuuri, I know how it feels to let go. Bad. Easily bad enough to forget your anniversary.”

He turned and started walking again, and Yuuri had to run to catch up.

“Viktor, our wedding anniversary was yesterday,” he protested. “I didn’t forget! I bought you flowers and made you dinner and agreed to do this… just how many anniversaries do we have to have?”

“Only one, I guess!” he threw up his arms like Yuuri was missing something crucial but it wasn’t worth arguing over. “Anyway, you are internalizing the feeling sad part, that is what this is about.” 

“And you thought a barfight would cheer me up?”

“Perhaps it would keep you from flirting with the handsome young bartender,” Viktor’s voice was gratingly sweet, dripping with jealousy.

“I was not flirting with him!” Yuuri started to review their interactions that could have possibly given Viktor that impression. “He just was being ni… oh…”

He’d been flirting with him. Accidentally. But still. No wonder he made him pay for all those drinks.

Viktor didn’t say anything, just looked pointedly in the other direction. They walked a few blocks in heavy silence. Even though he had no reason to, Yuuri felt more and more terrible with every step.

“I really had no idea that was happening,” he said softly. “Obviously, I’m bad at noticing that sort of thing. And I’m sorry I forgot… _Vicchan_ , please?”

A dirty, dirty trick, but it always worked.

“Don’t use your wiles on me,” Viktor muttered. “I am angry and smell like rotten fish.”

Apparently “always” was a thing of the past.

“I’m not sad,” Yuuri sighed after another long silence. “I’m not anything. Just… numb. Well, and I guess I’m humiliated? What kind of a skater ends his career walking to the kiss and cry? Maybe I’ll be sad later. But right now I don’t know what I’m even going to do with myself. I’m not coach material–”

“You know I disagree,” Viktor reached out and took his hand, cold fingers against the thick mittens Yuuri’s mom had knit last winter.

And just like that, everything irritated and angry between them fell to the ground, quickly smoothed over by the falling snow.

“Yes, yes but that doesn’t make able to do it. Especially since I’m no choreographer – I’ve never skated a single program I planned all by myself.”

“Not everyone can achieve the pinnacle of post skating success,” Viktor grinned. “But I would make programs for your skaters, if you needed them. Or you could always just live off of our money. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, being the main breadwinner of the household for some time, Face-of-Uniqlo-san, but we are very rich.”

“I can’t just do nothing for the rest of my life! I’m twenty-seven years old.”

“What a time to have a career crisis, eh?”

“You are the worst person in the entire world.”

“Wow! What an achievement!” Viktor grabbed him and pulled him close.

“And the smelliest.”

They kept walking, arms around each other. Viktor was doing the thing that he did when he was getting ready to say something important but didn’t want to act like his words had any significance at all.

“We don’t have to stay here, you know. We could move back to Japan. Yura’s all but choreographing himself. We just argue now. He needs to do things on his own. Yakov will let him. If he needs something, he can come to me like before.”

Viktor paused, like he was waiting for Yuuri to laugh, or agree, or something. When he said nothing, he kept on talking, his voice starting to grow hoarse.

“I could create programs for Japanese skaters! There is that young lady, what is her name? Nakamura Izumi! She is magical! I would choreograph for her for free. Skaters could come to us and stay at the inn and make your family lots of money. You could eat lots of katsudon and get chubby again, like I’ve been dreaming you would.”

Yuuri’s face heated up. He wasn’t sure if he was flattered or embarrassed, but it didn’t matter since it all got lost in a moment of quiet anyway.

Viktor had been thinking about all this a lot.

“I should have realized pretending to be strangers would make you uncomfortable, Yuuri. I should not have asked on a day when you felt like you had to say yes,” Viktor conceded. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t think it through much. Sometimes my ideas get ahead of me if I’m not careful.”

“Really? I never would have gotten that impression, being the owner of three dogs in a one-bedroom apartment.” 

“If we move to Japan, we can have three dogs in a spacious inn.”

His family probably didn’t deserve the look of horror the proposition of living with them elicited. “Who said we would move in with my parents?”

“Ah, but Yuuuuuuriiii I love your family! And it would be nice for our children to have grandparents in their lives.”

Katsuki Yuuri, three-time Grand Prix Final silver medalist, two-time World Champion, 2018 Olympic gold medalist, and the incontestable master of footwork on the ice, tripped over nothing and fell on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **e rating is for next chapter, which i'll post tomorrow after some editing.**
> 
> this story is for rt, who guessed the outcome of the yoi finale in our little contest. sorry it took me a month to write.
> 
> thanks to skitty for her help with dance moves (although i used less than i wanted), linguist boyfriend for russian translations that might need tweaking, leed and liv for prereadings, and everyone who listened to me complain
> 
> i tend to put my excessive russian into a very obvious context but in case you need it. 
> 
> _Vodka s tonikom… ano… pazhalujsta._ = vodka tonic... um... please  
>  _Bozhe moj_ = my god  
>  _Besplatno_ = gratis/on the house  
>  _Khochesh’ napitok, miliy moy_ = can i buy you a drink, my darling?  
>  _Spacibo bol’shoe_ = very polite way of saying thanks  
>  _malysh_ = roughly translates as "baby"  
>  _dorogoy_ = darling  
>  _porosya moya_ = my little piglet  
>  _Sukin syn_ = sons of bitches  
>  _Chert_ = damn  
>  _grebanyj musor_ = fucking trash


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an adult, i cannot express how bad adults are at making major decisions.

Viktor made a beeline for the shower as soon as they got into the apartment, dropping clothes as he went. He was followed by the dogs, excited to sniff out all the interesting new smells he had brought home.

Yuuri slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and struggled to remove the brace that went from the bottom of his shin to the middle of his foot. He stared at the refrigerator, wondering, not for the first time, if he could stick some of the magnets to the pins holding his ankle together.

It wasn’t a very good distraction.  

He’d managed to avoid thinking about the future for the duration of his rehabilitation. But now, of all possible futures, moving back to Hasetsu and somehow still staying in the world of figure skating was the one he had to contemplate.

An insane idea.

Except… it wasn’t.

It was uncomfortable to think about the amount of money they had. More embarrassing to consider how that amount was rapidly increasing. They could easily live on the profits from the four wildly popular Nikiforov signature fragrances alone.

(Whatever Yuuri’s was called smelled like trying too hard.)

But they had what they had. Viktor had been born wealthy, but he’d also been clever when it came to capitalizing on his image and investing that capital. Yuuri’s sudden rise to the top of the sport had brought his own endorsements. Combined, the two of them were doing outrageously well financially.

They could buy and maintain the Ice Castle without batting an eye. It had been up for sale for ages. Hasetsu was considering shutting it down if they couldn’t privatize it, or at least get investors. That investment, if it was theirs, could set a lot of things in motion.

Competitive skaters and their coaches could come to Viktor for choreography. The same skaters could rent private rink time. More skaters meant Minako had students to teach. It meant the Nishigoris kept their jobs. The decline in tourism had left a lot of affordable lodging, but an influx of people would give the local inns more business. Yuuri could be an advanced instructor, a job he felt he could handle. If they funneled a few extended residents to the onsen, his parents could retire. Mari could hire some staff and run the things the way she’d always wanted.

He was getting ahead of himself.

But in Hasetsu there were really only two options for them: live a lazy retired life for the next sixty years or… invest in an entire skating rink. It just so happened that taking over an entire skating rink was something they could afford. Viktor wasn’t ready to stop doing his job; this had to have been what he was thinking about when he brought up a potential move. If they did, it could change everything for Yuuri’s family.

Of course, they were Viktor’s family too. They had been since the moment his parents first found him at the door with an old-fashioned suitcase and enormous dog. It was like they could smell orphan on him. His mother clung to him especially. The two of them talked on the phone together. In Japanese. Mari too. Calls that Yuuri wasn’t even involved in. Viktor was absolutely a member of the Katsuki family.

But a family _with_ Viktor was a very different thing.

A result of pouring everything he had into skating was that Yuuri had never thought about what came after. There was his ancient finance degree, but that was a dead end at this point. Even if he felt proficient in the subject, he had no connections to find a salaried position. He didn’t like modeling at all. He expected his contracts would dry up with his skating anyway.

There were very few things he’d put less thought into than the practicalities of his retirement.

So of course he’d never thought about a future family. He’d rarely thought about his _current_ family. Not until Viktor, the messy, ridiculous person who was radically different than the man Yuuri had idolized. And Viktor, who’d had no life outside of skating, had pushed Yuuri to live in his own. Then he’d agreed that they should make a life together. And now he wanted to add some more people to it.

Vulnerable people that they would have sole responsibility for.

Despite his somewhat deserved reputation for spontaneity, Viktor wouldn’t mention children, or any of this, without thinking about them for a long, long time.

Yuuri hadn’t thought about them at all.

Ever. Not as a child or a teenager or at their _wedding._ He hadn’t even considered them when gossip columns explored the likelihood of the king of skating producing a biological child to inherit his crown.

And now Yuuri was making up for all those years of blissful ignorance at once. He couldn’t stop the relentless flow of anxiety-driven practicalities even if he wanted to.

It would probably take years to adopt. Maybe? The thought of figuring out the process was daunting. Not to mention all the choices they’d have to make: which country and how old and what gender and on and on. If they went through with it, everything to come afterwards would be very, very difficult. So many ways to mess up. The concept was terrifying.

But skating was terrifying. Beyond the ways to get hurt, or die if you were stupidly careless, were the million tiny heartbreaks that shredded your soul to pieces. And it was _hard_. The quad lutz alone had kept Yuuri from sleeping for months. He’d trained far beyond what he should have. But one day he landed it, and he didn’t stop landing it until the micro fractures from training so aggressively shattered his ankle with a single step.

A million tiny heartbreaks.

But that was just a jump. A broken bone, even one that would never quite heal, wasn’t the same as a human life. A jump couldn’t get hurt. Bones weren’t conscious of ruined futures. The ice couldn’t smile. Or learn things. Or look like Yurio had that time, shivering in the waterfall like someone who needed to be protected.

Yuuri had felt something then, and it wasn’t something he knew how to describe. But, though he’d never experienced it with Yurio again, he felt a certain softness for the feeling whenever he remembered it.

Had that experience been… parental? He didn’t know. The only thing Yuuri had to compare to any hypothetical life experience was skating and it didn’t feel particularly applicable in this case. It was confusing more than anything.

But Viktor Nikiforov wanted to be a father. With Yuuri. He wanted them to be parents, together. Viktor would be hopeless. Clueless. Too indulgent, and just as petulant as any child. But also loving. Eager to learn what made them happy, dedicated to teaching them new things, supportive no matter what they’d decide for their lives.

Hopelessly wonderful.

Maybe it was just the vodka, but Yuuri found himself a lot less afraid and a lot more ready to meet that man.

Also maybe the vodka, but the realization made him want to corner Viktor in the shower to show him just how ready he was.

But the dogs needed walking and the cold air was good for thinking through important questions (for example: _was he interested in this only because his husband wanted it?_ and _had Yuuri ever even interacted with a child one-on-one?_ ), so Viktor was left to shower alone.

 

When Yuuri got back, Viktor was cleaned up and the dumpster smell was gone. His clothes were in a plastic bag in the trash, which was fine because they’d been ugly. Curled up on the couch, he was messaging someone, probably Chris.

Yuuri wondered if this whole night had been Chris’ idea. He almost asked, then decided knowing wouldn’t change much. Instead he poured out a bottle of Viktor’s favorite Belgian. It was one you couldn’t get in Russia, an anniversary present Yurio had acquired through somewhat questionable means. Hoping it would be a good peace offering, he brought it into the living room. Viktor was sitting in his underwear, still looking at his phone when Yuuri sat the glass on the side table.

Well, he did all that after he took another shot, since his buzz was kind of fading and he needed it to stick around.

“Viktorrr,” he pushed the last consonant out of his mouth, lightly lifting it into a vowel. It was something he’d been training himself not to do since he lived in Detroit, but he didn’t feel like trying so hard right now. The sound of it made Viktor’s pupils blow out until only a sliver of blue was left.

“Why don’t you say my name like that anymore?” he muttered, his voice gravely. Instead of savoring the beer, he downed the whole thing in one ridiculous gulp.

“Because I live in Russia,” Yuuri yawned, making his way to the other end of the couch. “I’m trying to get rid of my accent.” He gradually leaned back knees hooked over the armrest until his head was resting in Viktor’s lap. “I have to practice, Vitya.”

The soft bulge in Viktor’s briefs was too close not to nuzzle and the gasp he got in response bolstered his confidence. “I’m cheating anyway,” he said to Viktor’s crotch. “Yesterday was a Japanese day, today’s a Russian day. I shouldn’t be speaking English now that we’re home.”

Ostensibly from the vibrations of Yuuri’s words against his dick, Viktor made a noise that was definitely some kind of profanity. But there were four languages to choose from and Yuuri couldn’t really tell which one it was.

“Your accent is perfect, Yurenka,” he rasped. His voice was fading, probably from yelling at the club staff and garbage. “And yesterday we didn’t speak very much Japanese. I think you made me forget how.”

Yuuri flipped head over heels, arranging himself on Viktor’s lap.

“Mmmm. But Viktorr,” he softly whined, knowing exactly what he was doing, alcohol keeping embarrassment at a manageable low. “I won the dance off, so that means you have to do whatever I want, right?”

“Yuuri…” Viktor sighed, immediately annoyed, “what do you want me to do? I already clean the bathroom. And you know how bad I am at cooking. I always forget and make everything pink when I do the laundry…”

This wasn’t going the way he wanted. He sat back on his heels, the tightness of his jeans uncomfortable across his thighs.

“My parents have an onsen,” he said softly. “You should come.”

Viktor was exhausted. Now that Yuuri was closer, he could see the bruises on his shoulders, chest, and arms from fighting the bouncers. The dark circles under his eyes were huge. He hadn’t even bothered to style his hair to strategically cover the small but slowly growing bald spot on the top of his head.

“Is this more roleplaying?” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I’m somewhat tired of that right now. And yes, I know it was my idea.”

Yuuri leaned forward until his lips were brushing the shell of Viktor’s ear.

“I want you to come to Hasetsu to have my babies, zvezda moya,” he whispered. “I won, and you said you’d do whatever I wanted. So… that’s it.”

Viktor definitely didn’t intend to knock Yuuri off his lap and onto the floor, but he definitely did it.

“Don’t joke about that,” he grunted. A look at his face indicated he was close to tears. The delayed realization that he’d pushed Yuuri made it worse. “I’m so sorry! Come back, malysh.”

He reached out his arms and Yuuri leaned away from them, skidding backwards on a wave of shame. He’d chosen the most ridiculous wording possible and it had had the opposite effect than what he wanted. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he’d expected to happen, saying it so ridiculously.

“I wasn’t joking!”

“You’re drunk,” Viktor chuckled, still holding out his arms and still looking like he was going to cry.

“Do you see how I still have pants on? I’m definitely not drunk.” Viktor could not argue with that. “Even if I were, it just makes me more honest. I’ve stolen three of Georgi’s coats and every single picture of you that Yakov owns, remember? Not to mention coming on to you. I know what I want when I’m drunk.”

He’d given the photos back after making copies, and brought each coat to the rink the next day, apologizing profusely, but Viktor didn’t seem to remember or care about any of that.

“This isn’t the same as drunk stealing and seducing!” Viktor pressed his forehead into his hand and massaged it. “I know you weren’t thinking about children until I mentioned them.”

“Well you weren’t thinking about being my coach until I brought it up,” Yuuri snapped.

“Is that series of events the theme of the evening?”

“I thought you wanted it to be!”

“Not particularly!”

That really wasn’t what Yuuri had expected to hear, considering Viktor had brought up his coming to Hasetsu less than an hour before. And the dancing and…

 “Are- are you disappointed?” Even though their trainwrecked plans hadn’t been Yuuri’s idea, he still wanted to sink into the floor. He’d tried his best but–

“Yuuri. I was thrown in a dumpster.”

“But, I mean, outside of that,” his pleasant buzz was transitioning into a weepy sort of tipsy. He couldn’t stop the itch of tears even though he knew he was being completely ridiculous. “Did you have a good time?”

“Of course I did!” Viktor sighed and pushed back his hair. “I just didn’t expect you to just…”

“Want to have a family with you?” Yuuri climbed back into Viktor’s lap, his anxiety taking on a level of manic frustration. “Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor wouldn’t look at him, but his voice was patient, “you need to think about this.”

There weren’t that many things that Viktor did that could immediately infuriate him, but treating him like a child was probably at the top of the list.

“I did,” he took his face in his hands so they made eye contact. “While you were in the shower I took a walk.”

Viktor grabbed his wrists and lowered them. “That is not long enough.”

“It was longer than Yurio’s free skate,” Yuuri hissed, much angrier than he expected to be over something he’d only quite recently had an opinion about. “Four minutes and thirty seconds was the amount of time I took to decide the rest of our lives. You don’t seem to be complaining about my choice.”

It maybe wasn’t fair to put it that way, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Four spectacular, door-slamming, stress-eating, Mila-hauling-drunk-Viktor-back-from-places-unknown fights. That’s what it had taken for them to realize just how different their decision-making approaches were. Yet his husband seemed to have forgotten. Again.  

Viktor made a lot of stupid snap decisions. But when something was serious, he mulled it over for a long time. Usually in complete silence, so his choices seemed off the cuff. But they weren’t. They were well-reasoned and rational, when you took his priorities into account. Alternatively, the longer Yuuri stewed over something, the more likely it was that his decision would be catastrophic, warped from sitting under an immense pile of worry. His quick judgements were much, much better and he was learning to stick to them.

If Viktor had thought about children for ages. Yuuri had thought about them for an hour. Maybe they should have met in the middle. But they hadn’t, so Yuuri had decided on his own.  

Viktor looked at his face, took a deep breath as though he were about to say something, then exhaled instead. He let go of Yuuri’s wrists to wrap his hands around his hips, sliding his cold fingers under the hem of Yuuri’s shirt. Leaning his forehead into Yuuri’s shoulder, they sat silently for what felt like a million years.

“Really?” he finally asked. The thrilled disbelief rang through the room before he caught himself and asked more seriously. “You’re serious, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s shoulder was getting wet. He turned to kiss Viktor’s head.

“I think you’d be a good father, Vitya,” he chose his words as carefully as he could. “I’d never thought about it before, but when I thought about it, well, I think maybe with you, I c-could… uh… be okay? Wh- why didn’t you bring it up earlier? We could have- could have talked.”

Was he crying? He didn’t expect to be crying himself, but he was.

Viktor tried to answer, but ended up sobbing into Yuuri’s shoulder instead. The dogs jumped up on the coach as one, sniffing both of them to make sure everything was okay. Yuuri gently ran his fingers through Viktor’s hair while making a pointless attempt to keep his glasses from getting smeared from dog slobber and his own tears.

“I dropped hints,” Viktor said eventually, his already weak voice shredded to pieces. “Why I thought that would work I’m uncertain, because you are quite dense.”

“So are you,” Yuuri huffed. He leaned forward and wrapped Viktor in his arms, which made him start to cry all over again. Viktor hadn’t cried like this when they’d gotten engaged, or at their wedding, or when he’d officially retired. He’d wept inconsolably when Makkachin passed, but this was different, less pain, and more catharsis.

Yuuri had his suspicions as to why he was reacting like this. They needed to be addressed before they actually went through with anything. But he didn’t want to say that in a way that was frightening.

“We should probably talk about this more.” He pulled back, sniffing, once Viktor had quieted a bit. “A lot more, but tomorrow, when I’m completely sober. And probably a lot more times after that. That doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind, just… it’s a lot, you know…”

Viktor nodded, offensively beautiful tears still running down his face. The dogs were kissing him frantically. He was hugging them harder than usual. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to do, so he went to the kitchen and poured them both glasses of water. He drank all of his and refilled it before he brought them back to the couch.

They rehydrated in silence. Katsumi insisted on putting her enormous body between them, her head on Yuuri’s chest, while the little ones were cuddled together on Viktor’s lap. He wasn’t crying anymore. Instead he seemed overwhelmed with a happiness he hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

And he was still wearing nothing but underwear. The thick muscles of his thighs flexed with the smallest motion. The taut curve of his stomach moved with his deep, contented breaths.

Yuuri wanted him because he always wanted him, but getting through this terrifying conversation made him want him even more. As soon as the spark of desire flashed into existence, it was easy to remember their bodies moving together at the club, the ridiculous, filthy nonsense Viktor had whispered in his ear. Really, it was almost impossible to _not_ want Viktor at any point in time. But especially impossible after deciding to be parents and drinking at least half a bottle of vodka over the course of an evening.

And Yuuri had definitely done both of those things.

“I think, if we’ve decided to have children,” he cleared his throat and stood up, “we should start things off traditionally.”

He waved away the dogs as he crouched down to grab Viktor behind the knees and under the arms then lift him right off the couch. Viktor was taller and heavier, but Yuuri was, until very recently, a professional athlete. He was not difficult to lift.

That didn’t stop Viktor from gasping and grabbing at Yuuri’s neck out of sheer surprise.

This action brought their faces very close together. Viktor’s eyes were wide, and he was blushing as though nothing more romantic had ever happened to him in his entire life. Yuuri smiled in a way he hoped was somewhat devilish.

“We should have as much sex as possible, Viktor.”

The immediate wave of pure, unadulterated mortification made him weak in the knees. Drunk enough to make good decisions meant he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to say something so bold. He needed to go for a run. Maybe he’d get lost and end up stuck when the bridges went up. But he’d said it and Viktor was looking at him like it was the most seductive thing Yuuri had ever done. So he tried to ignore his readiness to die.

But Viktor’s face abruptly fell and he started to struggle to get down.

Yuuri scowled, not feeling nearly as embarrassed anymore. “We go to the gym together; you know I can carry you.”

“You can,” Viktor was pushing against his chest quite hard with his free arm, “but your ankle can’t without the brace!”

 _Oh_ , Yuuri thought, as his ankle enthusiastically confirmed that statement. The resulting collapse landed them back on the couch with his head in Viktor’s armpit and a knee dangerously close to Yuuri’s crotch. The dogs scattered.

“That was almost very romantic, Yurenka,” Viktor’s chuckle was deep, shaking his whole body. “Truly elegant in presentation, though points lost for a large technical error.”

“Shut up,” he told Viktor’s armpit. The hair tickled his nose and he was about to sneeze when he was lifted up and swung up and over a strong shoulder like a sack of rice.

“Come now, my husband,” he could hear Viktor’s smiling even though he couldn’t see it. “Where else are these children going to come from if I don’t impregnate you immediately?”

“I really regret saying it like that,” Yuuri struggled, face burning hot.  

Viktor threw his head back and laughed hoarsely as he kicked open the door of their bedroom, “I’m not about to be beaten in the sweeping amorous gestures department.” He paused, waiting for an response that he did not get. “Are you _embarrassed_ , miliy moy?”

“No.” Yuuri muttered, mortified. It was pointless to keep struggling because he knew he’d lose to Viktor’s larger and stronger physique. It was exasperating but also extremely hot.

Essentially the theme of the evening.

They stopped in the doorway so Viktor could address the dogs. They’d been following uneasily, concerned about the whole carrying business.

“Not right now puppies! Cuddle on the couch for a bit, okay?”

Then he kicked the door shut behind them.

 

Yuuri landed on the bed, bouncing high in the air. He hadn’t even come back down before Viktor was on top of him, pulling off his clothes with practiced efficiency. His shirt went first, ripped off roughly, and the pulse it sent to his cock probably made Yuuri look desperate, but he was too desperate to care.

“Wow! These jeans are a little tight, Yuuri,” Viktor grinned down at him. His hair was a mess, untamed from the shower, and his eyes were feral and dark. He reached down with a finger and twirled it around Yuuri's nipple.

“Save your big dreams for later,” he tried ineffectually to push him away. “You begged me to buy them like this. I didn’t get chubby in one night.”

“Well they certainly fulfill other fantasies,” he leaned forward, took the shell of Yuuri’s ear between his teeth, and tenderly bit down. “You’re getting excited already, porosya moya,” he whispered.

“So are you,” Yuuri hissed.

Viktor slid back until he was sitting on Yuuri’s thighs. “Of course I am. But there’s a certain elegance in seeing you hard through very tight pants.” He firmly ran his finger across the outline of Yuuri’s cock and it took every single ounce of self-control to keep from thrusting into the echo of the sensation.

“I guess it’s not so exciting otherwise,” Yuuri shrugged, swallowing his gasp.

“What?” Viktor gaped, curling his lips with the affront. “Katsuki Yuuri, love of my life, are you saying my cock is _boring_?”

Taking advantage of the momentary vulnerability, Yuuri pulled him close and rolled them over so he was lying with his chin on Viktor’s chest.

“It’s Nikiforov, and depends on what you do with it.”

“Hmmm,” Viktor pressed a thoughtful finger against his lips. “If you keep up this ungratefulness, I might just use it to choke you to death.”

Yuuri got up on his hands and knees, pressing their foreheads together. Balancing on one hand, and maintaining eye contact, he dragged a fingernail gently across Viktor’s bottom lip.

“I’d like to see you try, Viktor,” he murmured.

Viktor’s face turned bright red a lot more quickly than normal.

“I thought we were supposed to be having passionate babymaking sex,” he tried to pout, but mostly just sounded flustered. “Yuuri, there have been too many death threats thus far for us to bring a child into this world.”

“Pretty sure it’s not your death threats that are the problem.”

“Perhaps if you took off your pants the miracle of life would have more of a chance.”

Pulling off his jeans while laughing was an unstable process, especially when they were so tight that they stuck to wherever he’d been sweating. Which happened to be some pretty sensitive areas. About halfway through, he face-planted into Viktor’s chest, jeans around his ankles, glasses digging into his nose.

“Amazing!” Viktor lifted his chin, took off his glasses, and sat them on the nightstand. He ran a finger down Yuuri’s cheek, his voice more of a rumbling in his chest than an audible sound, “Never have I been so seduced.”

Finally freeing one leg, Yuuri straddled him, feeling the press of Viktor’s cock against the inside of his thigh. He leaned down to press their lips together, hovering over Viktor as he craned up to meet him. At the last instant he turned, grazing Viktor’s collarbone with light, fluttering kisses instead.

“Yuuuriiii,” Viktor’s voice cracked as he whined. He was clearly about to complain further but then he noticed. “No underwear this evening?” he whistled. “Lyubimiy, you never cease to astonish, but this teasing is unasked for and unwanted.”

“The pants were too tight for anything else.”

That had not been the reason.

“It’s so familiar, you praising me in one breath and criticizing me in another,” he changed the subject, exhaling against Viktor’s skin. “It’s like I didn’t retire at all.”

He gnawed at his own lips then made to gently run his teeth across the ridge of Viktor’s collarbone. But he couldn’t because Viktor’s fingers were in the roots of his hair, pulling his head back so they were face-to-face.

Viktor’s smile was wide and sunny as their eyes met. “Are you going to do something with those lovely lips that isn’t mouthing off?”

The sharp, steady pain against his scalp was something that Yuuri was pretty fond of. He grinned, resisting just enough to make Viktor pull harder.

“I can’t do very much you don’t let go of me, Vitya.”

Viktor sat up, pulling Yuuri with him.

“Have faith in yourself, like I do,” his soft, hoarse voice rolled down Yuuri’s back, dancing across the taut cords of muscle. He tried to position himself so he could rub against… something, but it didn’t seem possible. That was almost definitely on purpose.

Since his current situation made it impractical to take his underwear off completely, Viktor wiggled them down just enough. The process involved a lot of unintentional yanking. Yuuri’s scalp ached and it felt unbearably good.

“Come on, malysh,” Viktor pushed his head down, fingers still tight in his hair, “I’ve had a very hard day, you know.”

Yuuri made scathing eye contact and Viktor flicked his nose.

Viktor smelled like his three thousand ruble bodywash and the faint musk of his sweat. Yuuri had given his husband head hundreds of times, so you’d think Viktor’s scent would be mundane at this point, but it didn’t matter; the rush of excitement was visceral. Yuuri pulled against the hold on his hair, a millimeter away from taking Viktor into his mouth. His own muscles were twitching, cock almost unbearably hard.

Viktor was pushing down, Yuuri had opened his mouth, and taken a breath when the alert for an incoming Skype call echoed against the high ceiling of their bedroom.

The offending phone was right next to Yuuri’s face, having slid out of the pocket of his jeans while he was trying to take them off. It was impossible to ignore Phichit’s name. It was almost five in the morning in Thailand, and he’d never called so late (or early?). A spike of terror pierced through the haze of arousal and stabbed into Yuuri’s heart.

“Stop!! stop!!”

Viktor’s hand was immediately out of his hair, and he pulled back completely, leaving Yuuri on his stomach without a single point of contact between them.

“Yuuri, did I hurt you?” he asked with a calm intensity that said he was ready to take him to the hospital immediately.

“No, no,” Yuuri scrambled for his phone, “but, Phichit’s calling, and he never calls this late and, I’m sorry Vitya, but something might be wrong. I have to take this.”

Viktor didn’t get a chance to respond, because Yuuri had already picked up the call.

“Phichit?” he fumbled to hold the phone to his ear, “Are you okay?”

“YUUUURIIII!” Phichit’s laughing, almost certainly safe and happy, voice blasted back. The phone might as well have been on speaker. “I miss you, Yuuri! So much!”

He was completely wasted.

Yuuri laughed nervously, feeling Viktor radiating annoyance behind him.

“We just talked a few hours ago, Phichit. Are you okay? It’s really late for you to call…”

“Oh no, no! I just took some time off cause of my calf sprain, you know? So me and some old school friends went out. Yuuri, do you know I haven’t _really_ gone out since we lived in Detroit? With that fake ID? That was so much fun, ah, remember how crazy that was? Do you remember, that guy you made out with that one time? You know, that one guy _?_ ”

Yuuri made a noncommittal noise because, though there hadn’t been _that_ many, it was still was kind of a broad spectrum of possibilities. And he probably didn’t remember anyway.

Viktor made a very different kind of noise.

“So yeah, I just saw this other guy a minute ago, and he looked _just like you_. It was uncanny, Yuuri! But, it wasn’t you, right? You’d tell me if you were in Bangkok, right?”

No longer concerned about not touching, Viktor was massaging Yuuri’s ass, his much heavier body pressed against Yuuri’s legs. He couldn’t escape on his own without a struggle. Only bad things were going to come of it.

“Yes, yes, of course I’d tell you, Phich _EEEET_!”

The terrible shriek could probably reach Phichit without the help of modern technology.

“Yuuri! Are you okay?”

He made a weak noise of assent, because anything else would be unbearably loud.

“You’d tell me if something bad happened, right? You’d tell me…?” Phichit was overwhelmingly concerned, which would have been sweet in any other circumstance. But his question was kind of difficult to answer since Yuuri was precariously balanced on the fine line between good and bad as his husband skillfully ate him out in the middle of a phone call.  

“Ahhhahhaaaa, I’m fine Phichit. Just, um, just…” it would have almost been easier if Viktor was just going to town, but he wasn’t. The irregular darting licks and kisses were impossible to anticipate or get used to. “I’m just tired and…” his sentence ended with a long, drawn out _ehahehehahehaaaaa_.

Viktor chuckled against him, and it felt really good and could Phichit tell that this was happening??

“Yuuri, did I do something wrong? Yuuri are you _mad_? Yuuri I’m sorry! I miss you so, so much! I love you Yuuri! You’re my best friend!!”

The first thing Yuuri was going to do when all of this was over was turn down the volume on his phone, but his hands weren’t steady enough to do it now. He wanted to tell Viktor to either get on with it or laugh, he couldn’t do both, but that wasn’t really possible. Viktor had definitely made the decision to keep going anyway, so it wouldn’t have helped much.

“I’m n-n-not mad! We’ve just had a rough night. Viktor got thrown into a dumpster.”

He was debating whether or not to echo his best friend’s affections but then Viktor’s tongue was actually inside him, bringing low level sexual retaliation to a total war situation. Yuuri didn’t want to risk talking more than he had to. But swallowing down his involuntary cries was generating these weird gulping noises that everyone in St. Petersburg could probably hear.

“Oh that’s nice.”

Drunk Phichit did not care in the slightest about the dumpster or the sounds coming out of Yuuri’s mouth.

“Hey, you know what I was thinking about? Remember when we were roommates and you had all those posters of _the_ Viktor Nikiforov all over your room? That was pretty weird for me at first, I gotta say,” Phichit laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, it was warm and friendly and Yuuri generally loved it. But nothing could be pleasant when it was that _loud_. “But like, I can't _believe_ you married that guy! I mean, I expected you to suck him off after some competition, I had faith in you _,_ Yuuri. But marry him? You’re like… the gay dude Cinderella!”

Viktor pulled back just to call out, “Hi Phichit!” then the torment resumed. Yuuri was rutting hard against the comforter, even though the quilted seams were more than a little unpleasant against the sensitive underside of his cock.

But Phichit had heard. He might not have been interested in their bad night, but he was eager, even desperate to say hello. "Hi Viktor!! Yuuri, tell Viktor I said hi! Right now! Tell him Yuuri!"

“Viktor,” Yuuri said through gritted teeth, “Phichit says hello.”

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Viktor told Yuuri’s ass.

It took two more unbearable minutes for Yuuri to convince Phichit to go back to his friends.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Yuuri said, dropping his phone. It bounced off the bed onto the floor where maybe it was broken. He did not care. He turned his shoulders the best he could with his legs held down and his entire body trembling, and glared.

“But Yuuuuuri,” Viktor pulled back his head, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and gave a beatific smile, “think of the children!” He leaned forward for a kiss, and Yuuri pushed him away with his elbows.

“Wash out your mouth,” the words snapped like cracking ice.

Viktor’s grin slid off his face. He bit his lip with nervous excitement as he scooted back across the wide expanse of the bed to open the drawer of his bedside table. Pulling out two bottles, he tossed one on the bed and brought the other to his lips. Arching his back in a performative bow, he took a swig. Impressive effort, but it was impossible to look sexy while using mouthwash.

While Viktor spat into a glass that he would probably drink from the in the middle of the night by accident, Yuuri ripped off his underwear then yanked off his own jeans from where they’d been dangling by one foot.

“Lie back against the pillows,” he demanded softly, sitting up on his knees.  

Viktor gracefully flopped to where he was ordered to go, but as he went, he very intentionally swiped his leg underneath Yuuri, knocking him on his face. He lay there for a moment – glad he wasn’t wearing his glasses – just breathing in whatever it was that their housekeeper used on their linens to make them smell nice.

Lifting his head revealed a happily naked Viktor, his hands behind his head. He was wiggling his disgusting figure skater toes, his cock bouncing up and down with the slight movement.

“Are you trying to make me mad, Vicchan?”

A soft, wicked smile spread across Viktor’s face.

“Of course.”

 

Viktor was very whiny in bed. Whining wasn’t supposed to be sexy but it was when Viktor did it.

Not just sexy, it was arguably the hottest thing Yuuri had encountered in his twenty-seven years of life. It was what he’d thought about in the dark nights when they’d been competing at the opposite ends of the world. When they’d had the time for Skype sex, often enough one of them was too exhausted to go through with it. So Yuuri had wrapped his hand around his cock and thought of his husband whining. And it always, always worked.

Because it wasn’t so much the whining itself as what it was associated with.

And that was Viktor, tied to the headboard, pressed into the sheets, backed into a wall, or anywhere really, red faced, sweaty, panting, and begging, just begging, for Yuuri to let him come. A situation that had once seemed so far outside the realm of possibility that every time it happened a small part of Yuuri wondered if maybe he was gay dude Cinderella.

Going crazy from the teasing heat around the head of his cock and the fingers squeezed tight around the base, Viktor had yanked at Yuuri’s hair until he snapped the elastic holding it back. It fell, a messy, uneven black curtain swinging just above his shoulders and immediately in the way. Since it was his fault, Viktor was told to sit on his hands and wait while Yuuri slowly braided the loose strands. And he had listened, because Yuuri had married a very smart man.

Now the braid was finished, tied off with the broken elastic.

“ _Pazhalujsta_ _Yuuuuuriii_ ,” Viktor moaned, his sweaty hair sticking to his nose and cheek, “please, please, _please_ touch me.”

Yuuri pressed his shins against Viktor’s splayed thighs, easing them open even further as he slid forward. He stopped when their cocks were a hair’s breadth short of grazing each other. Viktor tried to lean forward to make that happen.

Yuuri slammed him back into the headboard.

“Nyet.”

“I am going to die,” Viktor whined. “ _Bozhe moj_ , Yuuri, do you really want me to die? We made somewhat important plans.”

He sounded pathetic, but there was a dazed grin hitching up one side of his mouth.  

“Please, Yuuuuri,” he begged in a small hoarse voice, watching as Yuuri very carefully leaned forward and crossed his arms to rest them on his chest. Their cocks were gently bumping into each other in a completely unsatisfying way.

Yuuri placed a soft kiss on the side of Viktor’s mouth.

“You did this to yourself,” he kissed softly down, over the sharp line of Viktor’s jaw and across his neck. “On purpose,” he added casually. “You like to beg me for it, don’t you?”

Viktor exhaled unevenly as Yuuri’s kisses turned into dainty nips.

“You didn’t answer, Viktor…” He bit down hard.

“Yes,” Viktor swallowed, his body tight in an attempt not to squirm, “you already know. You know everything about me. Everything I am wanting, _please_ Yuuri.”

He slid down Viktor’s legs, easing into his lap for a perfect fit, still worrying the long column of pale skin. Viktor keened into his hair.

“Do you have any idea how hard I’m going to fuck you, Viktor?” he asked, soft and gentle.

Viktor made a very pathetic noise that he took as a “no.”

“Well,” Yuuri pulled back, tenderly pushing Viktor’s sweaty hair out of his eyes, “I don’t either. You had all these plans, Vitya. I don’t want to disappoint you…”

Breaking their loosely established power structure, Viktor’s hands shot forward to the nape of Yuuri’s neck, cradling his head so he could kiss him, strong and desperate. Yuuri let himself get swept away. Viktor was so much stronger and the moments where that power surged to life had the potential to put Yuuri into a state of near paralysis.

“You never could disappoint me,” Viktor croaked, leaning in for another kiss, rolling his hips so their cocks rubbed together. The quickly drying saliva from the abandoned blowjob meant they were sticking together more than sliding but Viktor was so desperate he didn’t seem to care.

With discipline he didn’t know he possessed, Yuuri slammed Viktor back against the headboard for a second time.

“Tell me what you wanted to happen tonight.”

“I…,” Viktor licked his lips, distracted, as Yuuri reached down for the bottle of lube that had settled itself in the hollow behind Viktor’s knee. One handed, he flicked open the lid, tipped some into his palm, and then closed it again, all while pinning Viktor against the headboard with the other arm.

Sliding back to put more space between them, he wrapped the lube covered hand around himself and started to stroke.

“Tell me what you wanted, Vitya,” he demanded softly, rolling back his head at the pleasurable shock of the cold against his hot skin. “Or I’ll tie you to the bed so you can watch me take care of myself. We have to tell each other what we want, remember? Good communication…”

Something in his husband snapped. He stopped whining completely.

“Well… you already felt me up on the dance floor, so that was taken care of,” Viktor brought his finger to his lips. “Mmmmmm… I wanted to go down on you in the bathroom,” he smiled brightly. “I wanted people to hear. Maybe even see.”

Yuuri swallowed and his hand moved faster. Viktor made eye contact, sharp blue unwavering and intense.

“And then, miliy moy,” his gravelly voice fell into a very familiar register, one that Yuuri had heard calling out from the boards time and time again. Telling him what to do. Pushing him when he didn’t want to be pushed.

Viktor’s coaching voice.  

“I wanted you to take me home and fuck me like someone you were never going to see again.”

Okay. This was fine, he could handle that. Even though the statement made him forget that he was in the middle of jerking himself off, he could handle it.

“S-so colors then?”

“Green,” Viktor was pressing against Yuuri’s hand, making it pretty obvious how impossible it actually was to pin him without actual restraints, “my mysterious Japanese man.”

“Likewise, but I’m not calling you that ridiculous fake name,” Yuuri licked his lips nervously. “It was bad enough before.”

Viktor surged forward, pushing Yuuri off his legs and catching him with one hand on his back. “You can call me whatever you want, malysh,” he murmured, reaching down to wrap his hand around Yuuri’s slicked cock.

Yuuri’s head snapped back, his back arched, and he groaned.

“That’s it,” Viktor cooed. “You look so beautiful in my arms like this, dorogoy.”

His thumb slipped over the head and Yuuri made a noise he didn’t really want documented.

“Are you going to do it, Yuuri?” he asked lowly. “Are you going to fuck me until I can’t walk?”

Viktor’s hand was in the apex of the arch of his back, making sitting up while being jerked off more of a challenge than was respectable for a former Olympian.  The feeling of hanging nearly weightless while trying to lift himself made Yuuri’s muscles start to tremble. The thought that he had no control whatsoever over his body set off a psychological maelstrom that drove him to the very edge in embarrassingly little time.

“Mm mm mmmm,” Viktor hummed, taking his hand of Yuuri’s cock, then pulling him up so he was sitting on his lap again. Yuuri was so disoriented he had to cling to Viktor’s shoulders to keep from falling over.  

“No,” he murmured, when the world stopped spinning. 

Viktor made a very pouty noise, “But Yuuuuriiii–”

“You’re not going to be able to stand.”

With no warning at all, he snapped his body back as hard as he could and slammed himself into the mattress, pulling Viktor with him. Without stopping to breathe, he slid free and pressed Viktor’s face into the blankets.

“I’m going to let go, and then you are going to get on your knees,” he instructed.

Viktor made a noise that sounded like an agreement.

Yuuri let go, scanning the bed for the lube, which of course was about to fall off the far edge. There was no dignified way to scramble naked across the comforter, although he tried.

“You think that teasing me is going to get you what you want?” he asked as he went.

“Yes,” Viktor responded as though he’d been asked if he wanted more water at a restaurant.

Yuuri started to laugh. Then he clumsily knocked the lube off the side of the bed. And then he collapsed in shrieking hysterics. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Viktor flop on his stomach, laughing just as hard. He didn’t know why. It hadn’t even been that funny. Both of them were desperate to get off. And yet there they were, laughing for no apparent reason.   

“Can we just have sex?” he hiccupped, sticking his ass in the air as he reached down to the floor. “Are we allowed, or are ridiculous things just going to keep happening until I pass out?”

As he swung himself back up to the bed, Viktor was there, looking at him with a soft, wry smile, still chuckling. His hands framed Yuuri’s face almost immediately, pulling him into a tender kiss. It grew deeper as Yuuri wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling their chests together. They hadn’t really kissed with this kind of slow intensity tonight, not even when they were making out on the dance floor. The intimacy curled around them.

Viktor’s fingertips danced up and down the back of Yuuri’s neck, sending little shocks of cold down his spine. Viktor’s body was a furnace, but his hands were always frozen, leeching the warmth from wherever they touched. The contrast of heat and chill was like sliding into the onsen in the dead of winter.

Like home.

The push and pull between them grew into a frenzy until Viktor was on his back, with Yuuri settled between his legs. He reached up to tenderly touch Viktor’s cheek, only to hit him in the face with the bottle of lube he’d forgotten he was holding.  

“If you don’t get inside me right now,” Viktor winced and rubbed his temple, “the building is going to collapse.”

Yuuri bit back his laughter and drew back to his knees, about to lube up his fingers when Viktor sat up and caught his hand, “No, I already did it in the shower.”

“How optimistic of you,” Yuuri snorted, slicking himself up again, then hooking Viktor’s legs around his waist.

Looking down, Viktor was pink from his forehead to his chest, the rest of his pale skin luminous, his tousled silver hair a star against the dark blue of their comforter.

“I love you,” he said, blue eyes hazy and happy.

Yuuri slid inside.

Viktor’s breath was ragged and Yuuri leaned forward, waiting for the slow easing of his chest that meant he could move. Drunk or not, they’d been edging each other too much for this to last particularly long. Viktor was tight and his entire body was shaking with the exhaustion of being turned on for ages. Yuuri took his lube-covered hand, and stroked him in time with his own thrusts. He couldn’t kiss him, he was afraid he’d fall over, so he buried his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck, propping himself up with his other hand.

“Oh, Yuuri, oh Yuuuuri,” Viktor crooned into his ear. He started babbling, the gentlest, sweetest things in Russian, but even though it was a Russian day, Yuuri still didn’t really understand them.

Viktor came first, his cold fingers digging into the heat of Yuuri’s back, then scraping down leaving long red lines behind. With one hand, he reached up and pulled on Yuuri’s hair just enough to send him over the edge.

They collapsed in a sweaty, happy heap.

 

“Uh, so um… you probably wanted that to be more romantic,” Yuuri said into Viktor’s neck once he’d regained the power of speech. “Sorry, you know… I’m not… I’ve never been that great at the whole romance thing.”

Viktor’s arm fell on his back with a heavy thud. “Last night you covered the bed in rose petals. We drank champagne and you fed me chocolate dipped strawberries while we bathed together. Or did I hallucinate all that in the haze of the very slow, gentle sex marathon we had afterwards?”

“None of those things were my idea,” Yuuri muttered. “Well, I mean, the sex, but…”

“I know,” Viktor said into his hair. “That made it even more romantic. It must have been very hard for you to ask Chris, Yuuko, _and_ Otabek for ideas. Did you have to ask Yura for his contact information? I’m sure Russia’s shining hope gave you a very, very hard time.”

“How did you–”

“I am very smart. Also? Yura told me. Excellent choice, including Otabek. He’s quite the romantic, in the ‘listening to the 1812 Overture while reciting Pushkin’ sense. A unique perspective to include.”

Otabek had suggested strawberries.

“Yes, yes, still. I thought since we’d talked about a… a…” he found himself unable to say the word, “a _family_ , that you’d want it to be more emotional and a lot less silly and…”

Mean, the word was mean. But it wasn’t like he’d meant any of the things he’d said. Being teasingly cruel in bed was the sort of game that Viktor loved, so apologizing seemed unnecessary. But maybe it was in this case?

“One of the few memories I have of my parents is of them having sex, actually,” Viktor casually told the ceiling.

“Ehhh??”

That was not the right response. The struggle to keep his breathing even as he realized what he’d done was intense. But Viktor just laughed. The rumbles in his chest reverberated through Yuuri’s body, shaking loose a long, slow exhale of relief.

“I was very small. We were in a warm city, probably Paris. I’m sorry I’ve never told you, but I suspect my parents were at least corrupt Soviet officials, if not outright criminals. My father did nothing but work for the ambassador to France, yet we traveled often, staying in extravagant hotels. Not to mention every last ruble I inherited came from Swiss accounts…”

Yuuri softly kissed his neck, worried that anything more might shatter the moment, but also intrigued. 

“Anyway,” Viktor’s voice was a raspy shadow of itself, “I had my own room in this strange hotel suite. I was very scared of… something. Scared enough to go find my mother and father. I went into their room, and I was certain at the time they were having a tickle fight,” he snorted. “They were laughing very loudly in between their kisses. I think they let me jump up and down on the mattress, which is probably why I remember the moment at all.”

He cleared his throat.

“I didn’t realize what it was they’d been doing until I was well into my twenties,” he chuckled. “I forgot so much when they died. It happens, you know, so children can cope. But more than that, I refused let myself remember. When I finally wanted to there was little left. So, perhaps this memory should be uncomfortable. But there is almost nothing of my family remaining in my mind, so it’s precious. It makes me happy to know my criminal parents were filled with love and laughter for each other and for their tiny, cockblocking son.”

With his head buried in Viktor’s chest, Yuuri tried not to laugh.

“You can laugh, porosya moya, it was a hilarious joke.”

Yuuri mushed his hand on Viktor’s face instead. Then they laughed for quite a long time, the cool air slowly chilling the sweat on their bodies. Eventually the room fell soft and quiet. Viktor pulled Yuuri tighter against him for warmth and reassurance, unwilling to move them enough to get under the covers. Yuuri wrapped his arms around his chest and squeezed tightly.

“Yuuri, I…”

He could tell in two words that this was the beginning of a talk they were supposed to have in the morning.

Viktor seemed to realize that before he went further, because he held his breath, then changed his tone completely. “… I suppose what I am saying is, I don’t care what kind of sex we have, but I hope we never stop laughing when we have it.”

Yuuri sat up so quickly he got dizzy.

“I love you,” he said, swaying a little, eyes unfocused. He wanted to say more, about not leaving or changing his mind, and that he would make sure that in Japan their children would learn Russian. But he didn’t know how to say any of those things, having mostly just realized them.

“I just… love you, Viktor,” he said again.

Viktor’s smile eased into focus as he sat up, taking Yuuri’s face in his hands and softly kissing his forehead.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked as softly as his ragged voice would allow.

“I don’t have a clue. Your pickup lines are awful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to rt for giving me such a great prompt which i then turned into a domestic pre-kidfic with ridiculous sex. 
> 
> also, the bridge thing? at certain nighttime hours a bunch of the bridges in St. Petersburg go up, and they stay up for a bit. you can get mildly trapped if you're stuck on the wrong side. 
> 
> _zvezda moya_ = my star... poor yuuri he tried so hard  
>  _lyubimiy_ = my love, basically


End file.
